


Evenings are for Lovers

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age One Shots [20]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullenlingus, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Smut, reading in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: Evenings were for lovers, Imryll thought as she lightly raked her nails down the coarse hair on Cullen’s chest. Evenings, and nights, and mornings too. At least those couple of days anyway. A day had passed since they returned from Adamant. Gifted with a few days of rest, the two were doing nothing save indulging in one another. In his room hidden above his office, the two made their own paradise.





	Evenings are for Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllieCee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieCee/gifts).



Evenings were for lovers, Imryll thought as she lightly raked her nails down the coarse hair on Cullen’s chest. Evenings, and nights, and mornings too. At least those couple of days anyway. A day had passed since they returned from Adamant. Gifted with a few days of rest, the two were doing nothing save indulging in one another. In his room hidden above his office, the two made their own paradise.

Though she often quipped about the hole overhead in his room, she had to admit there was something about Cullen in the soft orange glow of evening light, the shadows and lights bringing out the sharpness of his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, and the scruff on his jaw and neck. In his hands, strong and callused as they were, but never unpleasant against her skin, he held Varric’s Swords and Shields. He read to her, and though she had to admit there was something interesting about the story unfolding and the woman who was falsely accused and trying to get back to her lover Donnell, Imryll loved only to hear Cullen’s voice, low and soft. She loved to observe the shapes and plains of his face as she casually ran the back of her fingers against his strong forearms, and listen to his beating heart. With him in his room, she could forget what happened. He easily made her forget.

She was not quite a stranger to his room, nor he to hers, but there was still a newness to it—being and existing in something that was Cullen’s. Pretty as the evening sun was, she wasn’t quite used to the unfixed roof, and though Cullen claimed he was neater than many others in the barracks, the bits of clothes that littered the floor amused her. Yet her favorite thing about Cullen’s room was Cullen’s bed, and how his smell of oakmoss and elder flower clung to the sheets. It was the next best thing to being in his arms, the next best thing to having him near.

His brows furrowed suddenly, his reading pausing. “Oh…Maker,” he muttered. “Maker.”

She peered at him. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t read this.”

She glanced at the page, reading ahead if he wouldn’t. “She took Donnell in her arms, and—”

“ Imryll!”

She laughed. “Cullen, it’s not as though we haven’t done a few things,” she said, briefly recalling their moments of passion together. Ever since the first time they realized they cared, and they could, their kisses were passionate, and the few times they had gone farther…Well—

But Imryll continued glancing at the page. The things they were doing in the book went a little bit farther than the things Imryll and Cullen did together, so far anyway. She bit her lip, recalling their times together, and when she recalled, she smirked at him, a long finger trailing down his bare chest. She toyed with going lower, to the seam of his breeches.

He set the book down, and though Imryll had to admit she was a touch curious about what would occur in the story, she was far more interested in the man she was laying with, and his ideas. The book discarded, Cullen put his hand on Imryll’s much tinier one, bringing her fingers to his lips. He kissed her fingertips. She caressed his stubbled jaw. She remembered how easily they could have lost each other at Adamant.

It was so swift that she thought that, so swift and with no warning. He must have sensed something as she wordlessly implored him to blanket his body over hers, to remind her he was there. His body was long and hard, different from the soft curves of her lover past. He felt perfect, pressed against her. The kissed some, and when he began that gentle rock against the crook of her hip, a ritual they had done a few times before, she felt his arousal. Her hands drifted to his waist.

It was another silent plea. Stay.

“Imyrll…”

“Don’t talk,” she said, though for though she loved to hear his voice, she wanted his kisses. “Kiss me.”

It was a press of his stubbled mouth to her forehead, then her cheek and neck. He captured her lips, and her breath caught, dizzy and dancing as he began to rock into her. Something was different that evening. Usually his kisses were enough, and the gentle motion of hips against hers also enough. Yet her tunic and breeches felt awkward and out of place, and the kisses that usually satisfied only served to elicit a want for more.

He looked into her eyes. She saw. He too, wanted more. But he would not demand nor suggest. He was beautiful that way.

She didn’t know if it was because of what happened at Adamant that made her want it, or if it was simply the natural progression of their relationship. Likely it was both. Times of war brought out the best and the worst of people. It brought the highest passion, and the highest want. She wanted this man. She would not lose him, not without—

“We don’t have to,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“I want.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yes. I am sure.”

His prelude was another dizzying kiss, gentle against her lips. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I want you Cullen.”

His brows were bent, blissful. She loved that he loved the words from her lips. And then he asked if he could see all of her.

All of her. Every scar, every—

“Cullen, I…I have scars, and…”

“I want to see all of you.”

Will he find me beautiful? Will—

He squeezed her hand. “I already find you beautiful.”

She didn’t have time to wonder how he knew her thoughts, she only knew that he was helping her strip, and when she was bare before him, bare in the evening sun, his eyes drifted over her body. Wonder was in the amber of his eyes, so much so she wondered if he would cry at the sight of her. She bit her lip as he kissed the slight softness of her belly, the pink burn scar against it. He made himself content to only kiss her there, paint her skin with his tongue. She wove her fingers through her hair. His mouth traveled lower. 

Then, he paused. He searched in her eyes, for permission.

“Cullen…”

“I want to.”

His hand slid up her thigh. The sheets underneath her were damp. His warm breath caressed her there, making her shiver and writhe. The evening sun from his unfixed roof made his eyes become all of amber, gold and honey, and his hair golden wheat. She couldn’t help but smirk at it’s disheveled state—for she had done that with her hand. A scratchy, but not unpleasant beard pressed against her thigh.

She bit her lip. She told him yes.

At first he didn’t use his mouth. He merely continued to further arouse, further make her wet by pressing his bearded face against her thighs. She hooked a leg over his ropey back, pressed the ball of her foot into him, hoping he would get the idea. But he meant to tease. He continued to kiss her inner thighs, and before she could scream for him to use his mouth, the tip of his finger lightly caressed her clit. She moaned. He moaned. He licked. He wrapped his mouth over her clit and gave her his mouth.

It was a soft wave of pleasure, then an electrical shock, and then it was everything all at once as he brought her over the edge. Her body was white hot and she cared not if anyone heard her come, heard her moan her lover’s name over and over again. He rode out her orgasm, rode it out until her outstretched hands begged him for a kiss. It seared, and she tasted herself against his tongue, a salt and a musk taste. Her hands were everywhere, through his hair, squeezing his arms and squeezing his back. She felt the lining of his breeches. Instinct led her to pull them down.

“Imryll ,” he rasped, ministrations stopping. “We don’t have to go further. Not if you don’t want.”

“Cullen!”

She used that tone with him before, but never like that. Never in bed. He chuckled in surprise, before his eyes became carnal again, carnal and full of promises. Promises, promises, she thought to herself as she helped him remove his breeches, allowing his cock to spring free. Her eyes widened at the sight. She had felt it, yes, brought him an end through her grinding hips even a few times before, but seeing was another matter entirely. She supposed looks weren’t everything, and when her fingers experimentally touched, and she saw how he bit back his moans, she knew just how true that notion was. She slid her hand up and down, his sweet sounds egging her on, and in turn, he began to touch her again. They masturbated each other, the room filled with the sounds of flesh and the sounds of breathy cries.

There was a look before he slid his finger inside her folds. She allowed it, because she wanted it. She still cried out.

“Imryll, I—”

“No,” she said, taking his hand. “I like it. I…oh do it again.”

He rubbed her clit with one hand as he penetrated her with one finger, then the other. Eventually he began to make small circles inside, digits twirling. He made her not only accustomed to the feeling, but desperately needing more. More of him.

She slapped his hand away. “Cullen, I—”

“Imryll …”

“Now.”

He didn’t waste anymore time. He got on his knees, and grabbed her legs, and he was inside her. It was all of him, and it was too much yet not enough. It was a fullness she never knew she would want before, but damn well knew she would want again and again. She sighed, arched her body, felt the waves of pleasure. Her Cullen, gentle and kind, knew it was all new for her, and appropriately went slow. But she could see as he closed his eyes how he wanted to go fast, how lost he was in the bliss she gave him. She waited a few moments, enjoying the softness of their gentle thrusts until she realized she had enough of him holding back. “More,” she said, begged, and he lost his resolve. He went harder, if only just, and after he made her come again against his fingers, he laid himself atop her. He went harder still. 

They kissed as they made love. He spoke a few words about how he didn’t think he could last long, perhaps she should touch herself again, and perhaps he should withdraw. But, she told him, she had already started to take precautions for this sort of thing, and she felt lucky already that he made her come twice before. She wanted to feel him, wanted to see the full extent of his pleasure. She almost wanted to slap him when he paused, yet that desire disappeared as a few flecks of his finger against her clit made her body arch with more pleasure. He gave her a third orgasm, and she called his name as a thanks and a plea, a plea to feel the rest of it. He peppered her with more kisses as he answered with more thrusts, and as he captured her lips with his, he spilled inside of her.

She must have had the stupidest grin on her face, but she was far too happy to care. She deserved to be happy, she realized, deserved to be made love to, and be kissed and made to feel beautiful as Cullen made her feel. She deserved it, and to make him believe it, she kissed his forehead, damp with sweat.

She felt his smile against her skin. She was glad he believed. 

Evening was turning into twilight, she thought dimly as Cullen removed himself from on top of her, taking a towel from nearby and cleaning the evidence of their activities against her inner thighs. She had an inkling to keep them there, those traces of him, but when he laid down, and she laid down next to him, she figured there certainly would be more times. Many more times. She chuckled as she thought of more times together.

He ran his hands through her hair, tender and soft, and she curled closer to him.

“Damn,” she said, still hazy. “Just damn.”

He laughed. “Damn indeed.”

“You don’t regret it do you?”

The question took him off guard, but she stood by it. She worried for a moment, worried until his eyes softened.

He caressed her cheek, and the scars there. “I regret many things,” he admitted. “But never my time with you. Never what we have.”

“Neither will I.”

It was her promise, and when they kissed, they sealed that promise. She wasn’t thinking of Adamant anymore. She was thinking of the future. Their future.

Evenings were for lovers. Evenings were for the two of them to be only Imryll and Cullen. Evenings were the time for their love.

How she loved him.


End file.
